


In Your Eyes

by animefreak



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M, Song Lyrics, Trust, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animefreak/pseuds/animefreak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blame Peter Gabriel. This just popped into my head while listening to his "In Your Eyes" ... so I stole it and scribbled vignettes around it. Life in less than 1500 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Your Eyes

love I get so lost, sometimes  
days pass and this emptiness fills my heart  
when I want to run away  
I drive off in my car  
but whichever way I go  
I come back to the place you are

The small blond man watched the sleek late model sports car speed away carrying his partner to his latest date. Technically, he wasn't that small, he just felt that way among the towering buildings of the American city in which he was now marooned. Or maybe it was just the confidence of that infuriating American that made him miss it when the other was out of sight.

all my instincts, they return  
and the grand facade, so soon will burn  
without a noise, without my pride  
I reach out from the inside

“Napoleon!!!” Illya's grasp on the other slipped another inch. “Wake up, dammit. I am not going to lose you this way!”

A muddy sort of grunt greeted his demand. Solo's head turned to cant his face upward, dark eyes clearing as he recognized the danger and grabbed onto the arm above the hand holding him. “You're late,” he slurred, getting his bearings on the smooth castle wall. 

“You didn't wait,” the Russian chided as they labored to get the American back on top of the wall.

That got a grin, the American in the remains of his destroyed suit lying on the rock walkway, just breathing for the moment. “What happened?”

“Boris hit you with some sort of gas, small cylinder; then you were sliding over the edge.”

“Where's Boris?”

The blond glanced to his left where the big man lay in a pool of blood. His partner nodded. “Thanks for the rescue.”

in your eyes  
the light the heat  
in your eyes  
I am complete  
in your eyes  
I see the doorway to a thousand churches  
in your eyes  
the resolution of all the fruitless searches  
in your eyes  
I see the light and the heat  
in your eyes  
oh, I want to be that complete  
I want to touch the light  
the heat I see in your eyes

“So, we're a couple,” Napoleon extrapolated curiously.

“Nyet,” the Russian denied as he straightened his sweater, ignoring the highly sensitive trails the other left on his skin with lazy fingers.

“Embarrassed?”

“Nyet! … Da … Napoleon!” It wasn't supposed to happen this way. The obnoxious American was never supposed to discover his attraction to men. Wait … that was tangled, as were most of his thoughts at the moment. Sex was a weapon, to be practiced as needed. The Russian grasped at that straw in the whirl of currents threatening to overwhelm him. Emotions were … He turned away from the heat of the American's gaze and nearly exploded in invective when Napoleon chuckled.

Illya wasn't expecting the other to grab him and pull him onto the couch again, pinning him there as much with his look as his only slightly superior strength. “What?” he asked cautiously.

“You're not angry with my suggestion, you're angry that you're interested,” Solo analyzed. 

The smaller man deflated abruptly. What he read in his partner's face was not what he expected even as the other ruffled his hair, which he hated … most of the time. “Sex ...”

Napoleon raised his hands in mock surrender. “... is sex,” he finished the sentence. “A weapon, not a pleasure. What if it could be both?”

“Trust.” The word whispered from him before he could stop it. There was no trust in his world, could not be.

“Let's start with dinner and conversation,” his partner suggested. “Trust, much like Rome, was not built in a day.”

love, I don't like to see so much pain  
so much wasted and this moment keeps slipping away  
I get so tired of working so hard for our survival  
I look to the time with you to keep me awake and alive

Napoleon sat next to the hospital bed where his partner looked a bit like he was the lead in a horror movie about an ancient Egyptian burial gone wrong. His own hurts were wrapped, but he was moving on his own. Between the head trauma and broken bones, medical was shaking its collective head and muttering about retirement for the Russian agent while suggesting that maybe it was time for the American to use his brain more than his body in the fight against evil.

The mummy shifted and muttered something in idiomatic Russian before finally opening his eyes to focus on the worried face beside his bed. Whatever he was trying to communicate was canceled out by the broken jaw. 

“Don't try to talk.” Solo nudged the bet to raise the head a bit to get his partner a drink of water. “Not too much,” he cautioned, knowing that Illya was just as aware of the protocols as he was, but needing something to say. “The installation blew out before your bombs went off. Not entirely certain yet what happened. You got caught in the concussive wave and then about half a building fell on you,” he explained. The blue eyes looked surprised. Was that surprise at surviving?

“You might want to wait on talking. Broken jaw.”

That got a muffled comment. Eventually, he'd find out what it was.

“The bad news is, we're getting retired from field. Although, maybe not all bad. I've been told to offer you Section 3, New York, permanent position. Since they're booting me into Section One, number Two for the office, I'd appreciate it if you'd accept.”

Retirement. With UNCLE, that just meant you had more headaches and couldn't shoot them to get rid of them. He leaned closer to the bandaged head. “We're still partners,” he whispered. 

and all my instincts, they return  
and the grand facade, so soon will burn  
without a noise, without my pride  
I reach out from the inside

Portia De La O Solo lay in state at the funeral home, her husband standing with dry eyes, supported by his oldest friend. Illya looked around. “You have a lot of friends,” he noted gently to his distinguished looking friend. Twenty years in the field for the UNCLE had not aged him as badly as losing Portia did. Even knowing that this day would come so much sooner than anyone wanted made it no easier to put her to rest.

Portia had waltzed into the office in San Francisco three years earlier. She was tall, lithe, intelligent, beautiful and practically perfect, except for the genetic snafu that could kill her at any moment. Weak walls in her circulatory system could burst and end her life with no notice. She refused to let that stop her.

The electricity between Napoleon and Portia was undeniable. God, if he existed, knew that Illya had tried to be jealous and failed. They were just right for each other. When Portia took him aside and whispered her knowledge of her soon to be husband's attractions to him, he blushed and tried to deny everything.

She set one lovely finger against his lips and shook her head. “I'm just borrowing him, you know,” she told him. “I am eternally grateful that you let me do so.”

He wondered if she knew how much time he'd spent helping medical try to find a way around her illness. Probably. In the end, he'd loved her almost as much as Napoleon. The hole in his life was nearly as large as the one in her husband's. Gently, he took Napoleon's hand as they sat through the ceremony and eulogy. Nothing would replace Portia, but he could be there.

in your eyes  
the light the heat  
in your eyes  
I am complete  
in your eyes  
I see the doorway to a thousand churches  
in your eyes  
the resolution of all the fruitless searches  
in your eyes  
I see the light and the heat  
in your eyes  
oh, I want to be that complete  
I want to touch the light,  
the heat I see in your eyes  
in your eyes in your eyes  
in your eyes in your eyes  
in your eyes in your eyes 

“How long?” after all this time, the smaller man, paling from blonde to silver, still had traces of his homeland in his voice.

“2013 now, 1961 then. We've been partners for longer than I can manage in my head,” his distinguished looking companion admitted, the light sea wind ruffling his still dark hair, except for the swatches of white at his temples. If anyone accused him of touching up his hair, he would deny it.

“Fifty two years,” the Russian supplied, pouring a decadent champagne into two glasses. “Your daughter is 25 and just received her Doctorate in Political Science.”

Napoleon accepted his glass, leaning on the elegant silver fox headed cane he nominally used when he walked. “And just accepted the nomination to run for the State Legislature.”

“She's an incredible woman.” Silence reigned for a few moments as they watched the festivities inside from their comfortable place in the garden overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. 

“Yes, she is. Thank you for helping me raise her, old friend.” His smile said more. Trust, like Rome, could stand for a thousand years once it was built. 

End.


End file.
